Beyond the Looking Glass
by Yuuki no Yuki
Summary: She had many names; Wordsmith, Xi, Rechi. But perhaps the most annoying was the one that had been so patronizingly applied to her since she had crash landed in this stupid Paradox. "Hey, Kid." She often wondered what The Doctor would make of the fact that a 'kid' like her knew the next millennium of his life. "I'm not a kid! I'm already into my second century." SI/OC Time Lord
1. In The Beginning

**A/N:** This is my attempt at SI/OC into the _Doctor Wh_ o Universe where the SI/OC is reborn as a Time Lord (or Lady in this case). Very ambitious, I know. This is _not_ a romance. As, comparatively, my SI/OC would be 14 to the Doctor's 90 when they first meet. In fact a running gag is that she cannot understand how human's are so quick to over-look the Doctor's age.

As this is _Doctor Who_ , and the main character in this fic is a human-reborn-Time Lord, it is going to get confusing. I tried my best to explain things in such a way that they are comprehensible and yet don't compromise the...conceit...of my character and her society in general.

I only ask you give the prologue a read from beginning to end before you judge.

Thank you, for your time.

* * *

 _"Time is a sort of river of passing events,_  
 _and strong is its current;_  
 _no sooner is a thing brought to sight_  
 _than it is swept by and another takes its place,_  
 _and this too will be swept away."_

 **~ Marcus Aurelius ~**

* * *

Time is an odd concept.

In the Beginning-as I've come to refer to it-I used to think of it as a construct of sorts.

Time didn't actually _exist_.

Not in the same way as air, or light, or sound. No, it was simply a man-made invention. A way to quantify relationships, to make sense of the senseless. What was a day? A week? A year? Nothing but artificial constructs used to define an artificial concept.

Thus, Time was a construct.

Or so I had thought.

Not that I ever told anyone, mind you. In the Beginning, I was more than content to keep such theories to myself. What use would discussing it with others have? At the best they would nod along understandingly with an "I see" and a patronizing smile, at worst they could've had me committed.

Such was our archaic society. Where genius and madness had no distinguishable differences aside success.

Not that I had been a genius.

Far from it.

I had been smart, sure. But I had most definitely _not_ been a genius. Not by my then-society's standards, and even less so by the standard's of my current society.

So In the Beginning, I had kept my thoughts on Time to myself. Which I now greatly appreciate. After all it is one thing to be proved wrong in the sanctity of one's mind. And something else entirely to be proved wrong a theory that you had gallantly shared with others.

Time wasn't a construct.

Rather Time _was._

It was the Beginning and the End, and yet possessed neither a Beginning nor an End. It was the string that wove the fabric of the universe together, and yet, conversely, the weaver of the string of space.

Einstein said it best when he said that "the only reason for Time is so that everything doesn't happen at once."

Time prevented Chaos, pure and simple.

And if that sounds almost...religious in nature, well then I must apologize. But the fact of the matter is that my now-society does view Time with a nearly celestial eye. They do regard it as something _transcendent_ , something deserving of Rules and Regulations.

Something on which to build a society on.

To build _our_ society on.

And while this conflicts directly with beliefs I had carefully cultivated In the Beginning, you can forgive me for occasionally falling back on social conditioning. Especially when my consciousness was completely void of those memories for the first eight years of my Now Life.

This must all seem rather confusing. I wish I had a way to simplify this further, but the fact is that a culture only develops a language to match their level of understanding. It would be a moot point otherwise. And while this is perfectly acceptable for intra-species communication, it does tend to put a...damper? on any inter-species communication.

There is nothing quite like trying to explain a foreign concept to a race that has yet to invent the words needed for the explanation.

But I shall endeavor to try.

Now it is my understanding that your race views everything in linear progression, and your language has evolved to match this. Nothing I have experienced since my transition from In the Beginning to my Now Life has been linear, but I shall endeavor to explain it as such.

If Time was a line (it is _not_. But for the sake of your understanding we shall refer to it as such) then each, individual, life would be but a line segment. A connection between **point A** (birth) and **point B** (death).

In the Beginning I had always functioned under the assumption that I too would live according to these parameters. My line segment, however, didn't run from **A** to **B** but rather from **A** to **D**.

It began at **point A** (birth) ran through **point B** (death) continued on to **point C** (rebirth) and will, theoretically, end at **point D** (final death). I have since come to refer to the segment running from **point A** to **point B** as 'In the Beginning' and the segment running from **point C** to **point D** as my 'Now Life.'

They are both separated, quite cleanly, by the segment that runs from **point B** to **point C** which I have come to refer as 'The Void' and, to the best of my knowledge, this segment was meant to act as a wall of sorts.

A sort of Infinite Time, during which my mind would forget the Time spent 'In the Beginning' so as to be prepared for my 'Now Life.' I don't believe my memories were to be erased, but rather I was to be held for such a long time that they were to fade into nothingness. The way an adult has no recollection of their infant years.

It would make no sense to completely erase past-experiences, after all.

And Time is not wasteful.

'The Void' seemed to have done it's job and I lived the first eight years of my 'Now Life' completely ignorant to the fact that it had begun, years, eons, before. Of course, then I looked backwards in Time.

I was brought before 'The Void' and told to peer into it. And so I did. How was I to know that I was peering into my past? And like an old photograph the longer I stared the more I recalled. Until I could quite clearly _see_ 'In the Beginning.'

Now, I have managed to keep things fairly linear up until this point, but the fact of the matter is Time _is not_ linear. And neither is my experience with it. So I shall simply relay to you the facts as I know them, and hope you understand that they do make _chronological_ sense...just not _linear_ sense.

The facts are as follows.

'In the Beginning' I had been born on a planet known as Earth around the end of the Second Millennium. I had lived my life mundanely, if happily, and spent ample time on a hobby known as "Science-Fiction" especially on the concept of Time Travel.

'In the Beginning' I had been quite happy to follow a show known as _Doctor Who_ and watch as the main character, fondly referred to as _The Doctor_ traversed Time and Space in his Big Blue Box. I had watched this show eagerly, until my untimely demise some months before the ninth season of the reboot was to air.

In my 'Now Life' I had been born on a planet known as Gallifrey around the Beginning of the End more commonly known as the Period of Peace, or the Time of Romana's Rule. In relation to Earth I had been born roughly 7 millennium B.P (Before Planetesimal). Putting me nearly Five Hundred Millennium before my First Birth.

Conversely I had been born a mere eight centuries _after_ 'The Doctor' and a good millennium _before_ the events of the reboot...assuming The Doctor tracked his age in relation to the year he was born on Gallifrey.

'In the Beginning' I had been a strong proponent of science, and yet a firm believer of the supernatural. 'Now' I was a firm believer of science, and a strong proponent of the supernatural.

Which, in a 'rational' world, was a very dangerous stance to take. I knew this, better than most of the initiates whom I had stood in line with. I _knew_ that there were things my new society accepted, and things they _didn't_.

I _knew this_ and yet, I ignored it.

For I knew more than my predecessors, and more than my successors. They were blocked by the confines of a singular universe. Yes, Alternate Universes exist, and yes they knew this, could go so far as to _visit_ them. But it is one thing to visit a place, and something else entirely to live there.

I had a far better grasp of the idea of Alternate Universes than my Professors could ever hope to achieve. I _knew_ that if Magic was the bases of understanding in other universes, _had been_ the basis of our own Universe before Rassillon and Omega founded Time Lord Society and "banished irrationality" then it _was_.

If something existed, and I have knowledge of it existing, then it exists. That is one of the fundamental rules of the Universe (the very rule that saved The Doctor from extinction after Big Bang Two).

On virtue of me knowing and accepting it, Magic _was_.

And that was a far worse-crime in the eyes of the Elders than being an advocate of Magic.

I suppose one of the reasons I become an advocate of Magic in those Early Days was because I could use it. Not like a witch. Not 'say a spell and cast an illusion.' But rather 'see all that _is, was,_ and _could be._ '

All Time Lords had a 'sense of Time' it was what looking into the Untempered Schism gave us. It, along with the ability to regenerate, is what separated us from Gallifreyans and from all other "lesser" life forms. But there was a big difference from being able to see a _fixed point in time_ a _casual nexus_ and a _point of flux_ and being able to see the relative future of people and places.

The relative future of _Time Lords_ and _Gallifrey_.

The memories I gained of that 'Other Time' affected my mind at a biological level. I was changed. And not in a way that was typical to our species. I suddenly found myself constrained in ways that my peers could not understand.

 _"You can't divide by Zero? Now really, what a quaint idea."_

And yet freed in ways that they could never imagine.

 _"I'm telling you, it_ is _possible for someone to survive jumping into another's Time-Stream, I've_ seen _it."_

I was both the Outcast and the Example. The opposite of a Time Lord, and the Model. After all, for all my faults I could most clearly _see Time_ and in a society centered around that very thing, I was lauded.

With my faults, however, it was no real wonder that I strayed from Science and into the arms of Magic. I tired my hardest, I truly did, but I was constrained by the beliefs of my past. And while I could-through vigorous study-barely pass my subjects. There was simply no way I would be able to become a Temporal Engineer or anything with a science or mathematics background.

I was told that I could possibly, _possibly_ become a Scrutationary Archivist, for the Bureau of Possible Events, and that with my abilities I may be able to rise to the very Top of the Bureau which could grant me-in a few centuries-a spot on The Council.

But that was all politics, and something I wanted _absolutely nothing_ to do with.

If I'm being honest all I _really_ wanted to do was pass my Examinations, Choose my Name, and get licensed to fly a TARDIS. Which I would then use to Outrun the Time War-I had yet to work out the _how._

Unfortunately the Academy didn't accept that as a Career goal. So I ultimately chose something that my memories would in no-way affect.

Linguistics.

I hadn't expected this to lead me to Magic. As far as I knew that had all been lost with Omega-yet, after a good century of comparing Old High Gallifreyan to the 'Science' of the Carrionites I stumbled upon the fact that it was _not_ lost.

The language of my people could still be used to manipulate the threads of Time and Space.

And with my ability to see different threads of possibilities I could self-correct.

If I could ever master it.

The years passed as I worked on my craft, and I managed to barely graduate the Academy and take on the name 'составитель чужих речей' or 'Wordsmith' which I shortened down to 'речей' pronounced 'Rechi'.

Which further ostracized me in the eyes of my Society. Why choose a Title if I was just going to shorten it? I very much wanted to bring up The Master, but I had learned early on that using future knowledge as the basis for my argument got me nowhere.

As 'Rechi' I got permission to travel to planets both Past and Future and collect information on their language, (under the guise of studying quantum mnemonics). A chance that I jumped on eagerly.

I was rather young, all things considered.

Barely into teen-hood by my society's standards (at roughly 140 years old). I had only been out of the Academy for thirty-two years. If I wasn't so singularly focused on getting my TARDIS license I may have gone the way of my peers and furthered my education. (Most spent _at least_ another century specializing).

I really was rather young, in all honesty they _shouldn't_ have agreed to let me onto the Type 102 TARDIS, sentient or not. (And it was rather odd realizing that a Type 40 TARDIS was so old that it wasn't even mentioned in my _history_ books. Beyond 'the Type Piloted by The Lord President Doctor').

And being so young, I really can't be held responsible for panicking when I flew into the Time Stream and saw _a GIANT RIP IN TIME._

Now, in retrospect I realize that what I saw was more of an echo of a possible future than anything. In human terms...a mirage...but I didn't _know that_ at the time. So you can't really blame me for freaking out and effectively "flooring it."

How was I to know I'd end up at the End of the Universe? Wasn't a sentient ship meant to prevent things like that? I wasn't sure, none of this had been in the manual-the one I had actually read rather than chuck into the nearest Black Hole.

Whatever had gone wrong seemed to be correcting itself, though, as the Manual Recall was activated. And I began to phase back to Gallifrey...or that's what I'd assumed was happening when my TARDIS began to phase, apparently she had no intention of taking me with, though, as with a brush of consciousness against my mind, and a swirl of huon particles, I felt myself flung into the Time Vortex.

 _'War is no place for a Child.'_

It was nice thought. That my TARDIS realized _why_ she was being recalled and decided-sentience was a dangerous thing-that I didn't deserve such a fate, young as I was. Unfortunately she seemed to have overestimated my species durability (no small feat, that).

As, even with Huon Particles encircling me in a sort of bubble, there was simply no-way I could last more than thirty seconds in the Time Stream, if that.

Now, had the Time Stream been whole and un-fractured, the fact is I would have drifted in their eternally. Eventually a fellow Time Traveler _may_ have seen me, and picked me up-but I would have been long dead.

Fortunately, or not depending on your definition, the Time Stream had a _giant hole_ in it (almost a Worm Hole) that was only about a day or so off from where the TARDIS had left me.

In retrospect I could hit myself for being so oblivious as to what exactly had _caused_ that hole, but in my defense I had been in 'survival mode' at the time. And it had been over a Century since 'The Beginning' so it wasn't as if every detail of that old show was pristine and ready to be called upon.

My sight was also being strangely affected by that Hole.

Which, I suppose, makes sense. Seeing as it was a self-contained paradox.

But that wasn't exactly my _first thought_ when I saw it.

I can say, though, that I was rather quick on the uptake after the Hole spat me out in the middle of the ship and I heard a voice of nightmares question "and who is this?"

I instinctively flared up my mental shields and raised my eyes from the floor of _The Valiant_ to meet those of The Master.

My last thought?

 _"I should have taken my chances with that War."_


	2. What!

"It is only after we have lost everything, that we are free to do anything."

 **~ Charles Palahniuk ~**

* * *

Silence.

Complete and utter Silence.

Silence so loud that it was deafening.

That it was _painful._

It is often said that one does not know what they have until they've lost it.

I do not believe that this is out of any form of selfishness, of negligence. But rather that it is impossible to be aware of what loss feels like until you've experienced it, and having never experienced loss how could one pinpoint what they had to lose?

'In the Beginning' I had experienced loss many times over; the loss of a loved one, the loss of security, of freedom, even the loss of my own life. But _never_ had I experienced the loss of my senses. (Death was far too traumatic an experience for me to handle In the Beginning, thus I do not remember the absence of sensation, it presented.)

Even Time Lords, with our far superior physiology, occasionally suffer from bouts of amnesia immediately following Regeneration. Because the complete Void that is _Death_ can simply be too much at times. So, yes, I had experience with loss, but not _this_ loss.

And that, that has made all the difference.

...

It _hurt._

The silence. The 'complete absence of sound.' The _nothingness._ I don't know how.

But it **_hurt._**

I believe it was the shock.

The disconnect.

To go from feeling so many minds at the edge of my perception to two was... _staggering._ To go from seeing hundreds of theoretical outcomes to only one?

 _Terrifying._

I felt deaf, blind, and naked.

I was none of these things, I assure you, but that was most definitely what I _felt_ like.

Now before you judge me too harshly on my reaction, take into consideration that I was suffering from acute sense deprivation. And that both The Master and The Doctor were considered historical icons (like Mandela or Nixon) on Galifrey.

The stuff of legend.

Not to mention my memories from 'In the Beginning' shaped my views slightly. Okay, _slightly_ more than slightly. Okay...I totally viewed them both as "fictional characters."

So it really shouldn't be held against me.

The fact that I...

Fainted, that is.

* * *

The Master was having a very good day, all things considered.

Not that it was a _perfect_ day, mind you. No day since he'd been a novice-brought before the Untempered Schism-could have been classed as **_perfect._**

But this day had come mighty close.

First, he had been able to mock the Stupid Ape's on their medieval communication's channel. An act made even sweeter by the irony that his actions 'reflected upon the people of Great Britain'-the Doctor's favorite Common Wealth.

Then, he'd had the jolly good fun of Vaporizing the Current President of the United States and declaring himself _Master of All_. A fact into and of itself (I mean _hello_ he's called The Master for a _reason_ ), but still it bared repeating.

People could be so dull after all, what with their forgetting things and such. So if he felt the need to explain his Majesty from time to time, well it was only because he worried it wasn't making it through their Tiny. Little. Brains.

And-as if all that wasn't enough-he had gotten to gloat.

To The Doctor.

Like a right and proper super-villain.

And The Doctor the stand in hero. Only the Hero didn't win this time, oh no...hence the gloating.

Which, really, he could get used to. After all it wasn't everyday one captured their arch-nemesis. Forced them to reveal their real age. And then revealed to _them_ that you had been plotting in the background of their life for nigh on a year, now-Earth time.

For the first time in a long time The Master felt truly alive.

He had beaten him.

Beaten The Doctor.

Oh, it was just a temporary victory, to be sure. He'd been at this long enough to know, to expect, that the Doctor had an ace up his sleeve. Maybe two. Like that servant-girl, Martha, that he'd sent on a fool's errand.

But that was okay, because there really was no point to an arch-nemesis if they rolled over at every turn. And it was his constant attempts and plans to outsmart, to outmaneuver, The Doctor that made The Master who he was. Well, that, and the Drums.

Damn.

He had nearly gone a full minute without thinking about them this time.

 **One.**

Without thinking about that incessant beating.

 **Two.**

That unending tempo.

 **Three.**

That shadowed his every move.

 **Four.**

His every thought.

One **Two** _Three_ Four. _One_ TwoThree **Four** _._ OneTwo **Three** _Four_ ** _._**

"Can't you hear it?!"

He blamed The Doctor.

Every second.  
Of every _minute._  
Of every **hour**.  
Of every _**day**_.

Blamed him the way an injured animal blamed their owners for being unable to take the pain away.

It was not that The Doctor gave it to him.

 _The Drums_ , that is.

How could he? He'd been but a novice himself at the Time, and he couldn't pass his own Timestream at a later date to have influenced The Master's inauguration. Something The Master felt rather confident about.

Aside from the fact that one cannot cross their own Timestream-a Law Theta made a constant point of abusing-there was the fact that no TARDIS could travel relative to the Untempered Schism. They'd be torn apart before they landed anywhere near. (It was how the High Council kept monopoly of the Schism, and prevented overlapping Inaugurations.)

So yes, **ONE** it is not that The Doctor gave him the **TWO** drums. But that _Theta_ had never believed **THREE** they were given to him in the first **FOUR** place.

 **One** Two **Three** Four. _One **Two** Three_ ** _Four_. One** _Two_ **Three** _Four._

He believed they came from with-in. That The Master had looked deep within The Void, that The Void had looked back, and that it had driven him Mad. Judged him unworthy.

 _Insane_ they'd called him.

Delusional.

Never-mind that he was one of the _brightest_ Temporal Engineers since Omega himself.

Never-mind that he could manipulate the Psyche of nearly _ever life form_ he had come across.

He wasn't insane, just because he didn't run away like _The Doctor_ didn't mean he was insane. Oh no, he was something far more dangerous, he was _inspired._

Or so he thought.

After all, would an insane person have the technological know-how to build a self-contained paradox, out of materials that could be salvaged from 21st Century Earth? With-in a year?

Possibly, actually.

Intelligence and insanity are not mutually exclusive.

...and no sane person would think to cannibalize a TARDIS. So, yeah, maybe he _was_ a little insane...but that's okay because he was _also_ inspired.

Not that The Doctor could see that, could see his brilliance. Really, it was a wonder it had taken him this long to capture his "old friend" when he was clearly the better of the two.

Of course, he would have triumphed decades, centuries, sooner if not for that meddlesome council.

But then, The Doctor had already taken "care" of _them_ , too.

And really, what right did **HE** have to judge The Master when **HE** had played the _singular role_ in _eradicating their **SPECIES**_?!

Really, some things just boggle the mind.

But, the point was, The Master was having a rather magnificent day, all things considered. So he really should have expected something to go horribly, unexpectedly **wrong.**

Okay, that's a little harsh.

It was unexpected, sure. But to label it both "horrible" and "wrong" just seemed a little...mean, to him. And he knew that he was currently planning the genocide of a level 5 planet, to prepare for Intergalactic war, but that didn't mean he didn't have a heart, or two.

Or did it?

Ah, a thought for another day.

No, today his thoughts were clearly focused on the being in front of him. The being that _just appeared_ in front of him. The being that was neither _**zapped,**_ nor ** _trans-mattered_** in front of him.

Keeping one eye on 'the being' and one on 'The Doctor' (this had all the makings of one of the Old Coots plans, after all) The Master decided to play the welcoming host.

"And who do we have here?"

Tense.

The being tensed before whipping it's head up and catching The Master's eye.

And instantly he had two thoughts.

 _Time Lady_

And

 _Child_

And with those thoughts The Master reached out, almost instinctively, with his consciousnesses. Here was another voice. Another song. Another _**mind.**_

It was just _one_ more.

Compared to the billions of minds that had routinely brushed his consciousness in the Old Days hers was nothing. A speck of dust amongst a sandstorm. A single Carbon atom amongst the Big Bang. _Nothing._

But.

Compared to the Silence? To the absence of a million-billion voices? To the rebounding void that was The Drums and The Doctor's " _I'm Sorry. I'm so sorry_."? Compared to the emptiness of _Space_ and the vastness of _**Time**_?

Her singular voice was _everything_

A life-line.

His _Salvation._

Not that he had any interest in being "saved." Or anything of the like, that was far too 'Doctor' for him to feel comfortable with.

But the point stood that The Master was none too gentle in trying to...greet the child. (And she didn't look a day over 100, how precious) So it is entirely possible that _**he**_ caused the poor girl to faint.

But, really, that was her own fault. Raising her mental shields so fast. He'd had no time to abort and so had plowed into her consciousness like a 2 by 4. He'd barely gotten anything out of her.

Just the vague feeling of relief, being chased away by fear, near paranoia, and one word.

 _War_

"What?"

Well, judging by The Doctors reaction, this was most likely not one of _his_ convoluted plans.

"What?! _What_?!"

Scratch that, this was _definitely_ not one of his plans.

All the better.

"Lucy, be a dear and take the girl to the guestroom. It's degrading, her lying on the floor like that."

"The guestroom, Harry?" The Master cringed at the name. Really he should have a talk with her about that, how many times had he explained that he was not Harold Saxon? That there _was no_ Harold Saxon?

Honestly.

"Still," he mused, smiling at the way The Doctor winced every-time he crossed eyes with his Lucy "she's useful as a means of torture, if nothing else."

"Harry?"

Not that it made her any less annoying.

"Yes, the guestroom. It'll have to do until we can have her own room made up. You always wanted a daughter, didn't you?" He called, flippantly, enjoying the widening of The Doctor's eyes.

"Well there you go. Just make sure to call me when she wakes up. I have _**so much**_ to teach her."

Que threatening smile.

"Leave her alone!"

Ah, right on schedule. Really, over the years The Doctor had just become _so_ predictable. It was really rather sad...in a pathetic-I'm-so-much-better-than-you way. But then, The Master had _always_ been better than him...so maybe he was always pathetic?

Sounds about right.

"Hmm, let me think about that," he taunted his aged 'friend', "...no."

A smirk, "No, I don't think I will."

* * *

The Doctor was having a very bad day.

An awful, no good, downright _horrible_ day.

A catastrophic, one for the books, seared into long term memory, kind of day.

But-sadly enough-the day didn't even make his Top Ten. Which, in his defense, was really hard to do when said list-maker was not a day over 900 (that's his age, and he's sticking to it) and had a penchant for such 'bad days'.

They were the norm, he'd found. What was it he had told Romana all those years ago?

"Whenever you go into a new situation, you must always believe the best, until you find out exactly what the situation's all about. Then, believe the worst." Or something along those lines.

In the end the Doctor had found that the vast majority of days-'day' being completely subjective, of course-could be classed as 'bad.' On virtue of the fact that they-almost inevitably-ended in goodbye.

A concept he was well versed in.

'Planets come and go. Stars perish. Matter disperses, coalesces, forms into other patterns, other worlds. Nothing can be eternal.' Those were the words he lived by, his anchor. A concept central to the very foundation of Time Lord society.

The idea that everything had a beginning, and therefore, by the Laws of Sustainability, everything must have an end.

Everything ends.

It was a lesson The Doctor had taken to heart after years of heart-wrenching good-byes. It was the very lesson that had ultimately helped him with his decision to Time-Lock Gallifrey. Everything came to an end, and _everything_ died...his home planet included.

So, while today was horrible.

Awful.

And a bunch of other things that he couldn't quite think in polite company, it was still _redeemable._ After all, something had happened. Something impossible. Something good. Something, _impossibly good_.

Because, despite everything, a day can't be _all_ bad, when-rather than a 'good bye'-you get a 'hello'.

 _"and who do we have here?"_

To say The Doctor was shocked was to put it mildly, he hadn't been this shocked since Donna had materialized directly onto his TARDIS-mid flight-right after Rose's...departure. Come to think of it, _this_ materialization bared a striking resemblance to _that_ one.

Huon particles?

But where did she get them? They were a massive part of Time Lord technology, the core of the TARDIS, if you will. They weren't exactly a dime a dozen. You would be hard-pressed to part a dying TARDIS with them. Collapsing dimensions, and all.

Yet, here she was.

 _Time Lady._

"What?!" The thought flitted across his consciousness in less than a tenth of second. Almost unconsciously. Time Lords could recognize their own species with the same efficiency that humans employed for facial-recognition, after all.

There was no conscious thought to it.

Just a glance.

And an understanding.

 _Time Lady_

And not just a _Time Lady_ , but a _**child.**_ A tot. A Time Tot, if you will. Or, well, not quite. But still, she was so _young_ there was no way she should have been off-planet. Off Gallifrey.

And now she was fainting.

"What?! _What_?!"

Once again, to say The Doctor was confused, was to put it mildly. But that didn't matter, what _did_ matter, was the fact that The Master now had a child to mess with. An _impressionable_ child. And Martha had only left a few hours ago.

 _"Lucy, be a dear and take the girl to the guestroom. It's degrading, her lying on the floor like that."_

This was bad. This was _really_ bad. There was a reason most species guarded their young with a surprising furiosity. And Time Lords were no exception. And this girl, this _child_. She wasn't even a Gallifreyan, no, she had passed through The Academy and taken her name, The Doctor could tell that with the same surety that told him she was woefully unprepared to be off World.

Which meant that she was-in the eyes of the Universe-a fully realized Time Lord. Which, of course, meant she was also one of the most sought after commodities this Galaxy over.

 _And_ she was a female.

A _young_ female.

Time Lords didn't make a habit of natural births, having had used the looms for centuries, but-curse or not-they were still _capable_ of it. A fact that did _not_ play into the child's favor. She was basically asking to be kidnapped and made into some snot's wife.

Many planets still believed in "raising a wife" after all. And who would be better for their young Lord or Master, than a Time Lady?

It _hurt_. The need to protect. To shelter. To hide away. It physically **_hurt_**. And the pain only grew with every second that the child was _there_ -a place his body deemed unsafe-rather than _here_ , beside him.

 _"...make sure to call me when she wakes up. I have_ **s** **o** **much** _to teach her."_

That was it. He couldn't just sit there and let the Master _corrupt_ that child.

Sure he'd protect her.

As much as The Master would like to be able to ignore his baser instincts, there was no doubt that he had to be feeling the need to protect the child, just as strong as The Doctor. After all, that girl was the only chance their species had.

So The Doctor knew The Master wouldn't _harm_ her.

But he'd remake her. Into his own image. A child after his own heart. Something _broken_ and _wrong_. The Doctor didn't trust himself to do any better a job. But at least he wouldn't be actively _trying_ to screw her up.

"Leave her alone!"

But try as he might, The Doctor knew there wasn't much he could do in this current situation. His plan to escape was a good Year Off, and even if he managed to get the child and throw her off the plane, and she managed to-somehow-survive the attack until Martha was able to fix the paradox. There was no telling what that would do to the child's Time-Sense.

It could irreparably damage it.

At least here, she would be in the _center_ of the storm, and therefore shielded from most of the back-lash.

And judging by The Master's smirk he knew exactly that.

 _"...no. No, I don't think I will."_

* * *

 **A/N:** Well here's chapter 1 of BtLG hope you all like it! Not too much happened, but at least we got to see come reactions from our two Time Lords, ne? Next chapter will have a lot more of Rechi's reaction/interaction with people. I don't expect this "year" to be too long though, so no worries.

Now if you've ever read my stories you should know I make it a point of responding to reviews at the bottom of my chapter. So here y'all go.

 **:** Thanks! Hopefully you'll continue to like it :)

 **jcscheidt:** Thank you! Happy you like my chapter, _and_ my writing!

 **time-twilight:** Well, this should answer your question as to what POV I'm gonna do/I did. And I hope you appreciated The Doctor's reaction, although it wasn't much of one seeing as our poor friend was (a little)...in shock. Thank you for your review!

 **dark-dreams-of-love:** Thank you very much! I hope you continue to enjoy my writing style, and that I don't disappoint. As for the jealousy thing, don't worry I'm still uber jealous of the people who can draw/sing out there.

 **Lucifae:** Here you go, right when she arrives on _The Valiant_ as requested. Lol, that prologue wasn't really meant to be an 'In Medias Res' thing, so no worries on that end. Thank you very much for your kind review, and your compliments! Hopefully you'll continue to like the story.

 **scarlet:** Lol, technically it _is_ near the End of Season 3, but time-line wise it's about a year off from The Master's defeat. Which I'm sure you gathered from the chapter...so I guess I just felt like making small talk. Lol, well thanks for your review! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

 **Gladoo89:** Yes, you can already get a feel of how The Doctor views her, this chapter, (like a child) which won't go over well with a very independent Rechi, I can promise you.

 **Nam:** Thank you! I hope that you enjoy where the story will lead :)

 **SilverMarkings:** Thank you for your kind review! I've found one, or two, SI-OC DW fics myself. But they almost always involve some _human_ girl (roughly Rose's age) who enters the story at the beginning of 9's tenor. And said girl is (almost always) dropped on the planet when she is a teenager, having fallen through some rip in Time and Space, etc. Not to say that these fics are _bad_ , some are really well written. But they weren't exactly what I was trying for, either. Year that Never Happened. Eleventh Hour is still a while away, I'm afraid. Lol, I could see her getting mad at The Doctor's companions because they treat her like a teenager when she's got a good century on them. Well thank you again, for the review!

Thanks again to all who read/alerted/favorited/reviewed. You guys are awesome!

 **Ja ne!**


	3. Shields

_"The more stupid one is, the closer one is to reality.  
The more stupid one is, the clearer one is."  
_

 **~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky ~**

* * *

No one likes to be told they're stupid.

Regardless of whether it is true or not, we all like to live in the fallacy that we are smart _enough._ That is, comparatively smart. Sure we may not be Einstein or Beethoven, but were are hardly _stupid_. Compared to our peers we might even seem intelligent.

And it is a comparison.

We build our entire self-identity out of comparisons. Out of ' _in relations_ '. It's our inherent competitive nature. It is why consumerism thrives, and why Capitalists and Communists can never get along. We don't need to be the _best,_ we just need to be _better than our neighbor._

I never believed I was stupid. Growing up I always had this unwavering faith in my own intelligence. I believe the laymen call it "pride". To some degree it was unfounded, my intelligence was untested and therefore unproven.

l was never pushed to surmount anything.

On the other hand, however, that lack of strain was exactly why I felt so confident, so secure in my own knowledge. Everything just came so _easy._ So _fast._ Surely this was the work of a gifted mind?

Or so I thought.

I can now say with complete, and utter certainty, that I was _wrong._

Intelligent?

Please.

I was barely _above average._

Sure I had mastered the ability to regurgitate information. Mastered the tricks of the trade; trial-and-error, context clues, elimination, etc. Mastered the formulae and structures. But the content? I was lucky if I internalized even a quarter of the things taught to me.

And yet I had the gall to label myself as anything less than ignorant?

Naive?

No.

If there was one thing I had learned during my many, _many_ humbling experiences at the Academy it was that whether I wanted to hear it or not, whether I wanted to accept it or not, compared to my peers...I _w_ _as_ stupid.

And it took me even longer to realize that this was a good thing. To put it in the Grand Words of my once-upon-a-time Professor, "stupid is good. Stupid I can work with. Lazy, however..." It was a good thing because in my humility I found something far more prudent than Pride.

I found _passion._

People always bring up Einstein when trying to motivate others. "Look at this famous mathematician," they'd say, "he failed mathematics in high school." (A myth in its own right.) It was meant to encourage one to not give up. It painted the illusion of a Bright Man rising up in-spite of all of his set-backs.

I've always been of a slightly different opinion.

To me it was not _in spite of_ but rather _because of_ his set-backs that Einstein found the Passion to delve into science. To revolutionize the world. Although his set-backs were quite different than portrayed (almost ending with a life of obscurity as a school teacher). Einstein _abhorred_ regimented structure, and authoritarian regimes. He questioned _everything_ and never let a chance to solve a problem _his way_ slip through his fingers.

He was a brilliant mathematician. But in the ways of social graces he was rather poorly educated. Stupid, some might say. But it mattered not, for his short comings were by-and-large eclipsed by his _passion_.

For it was his passion that never allowed him to give up. Not when he first failed the entrance exam to ETH. Not when he wasn't offered an apprenticeship after graduating with a _Fachlehrer_ diploma. And not during his (countless, I'm sure) setbacks on working on his four famous postulates.

When you find the one thing that you can do better, and know better, than anyone else. You _never let it go_.

I say that the label was a blessing growing up because it was the one thing that motivated me to stick with language. It was the one thing that lead me to arcane magic. Which is great! Seeing as that is probably the only reason I'll be able to get out of this place.

Now there are few things more frightening, I've found, than waking up in a place that you neither remember falling asleep in, nor remember period. I mean, my heart starts racing if I wake up in a different _position_ than I'd expected. Head facing West as opposed to North. How much more so a completely different-unfamiliar-room?

Yes, there are few things more terrifying than that.

But the slow realization that the "unfamiliar room" was aboard the Ship of one of the most certifiably insane villains of Science-Fiction? Well that may have been a _wee bit_ more petrifying.

So was it any real shock that I immediately acted on my primal instincts and began pacing around looking for an exist?! (There were no _visible_ doors). Checking every nook and cranny for a switch that I knew wouldn't be there? Feeling along the walls for a nonexistent secret passageway?

I didn't think so.

And apparently _he_ didn't think so either, seeing as the entire room was very carefully void of _anything_ immediately useful. Just a twin bed-blankets folded military style-and a table, with plain bread, and a glass water, resting on it. But then again, the key word was 'immediately' I still had the upper-hand in that I had the time to prep my most powerful weapon.

My Magic.

Now I only needed to figure out the optimal numbers...

* * *

One. Two. Three. Four.

It is exactly two hours and thirty four minutes before his charge awakens. He knows the exact moment she realizes where she is, because her thoughts practically broadcast terror.

 _"...aboard the Ship of one of the most certifiably insane villains of Science-Fiction."_

He can't help but laugh at how her thoughts read like a novel. A natural rise-and-fall to them. No disjointed arguments trying to be heard over each other (The Doctor) and no stream-of-consciousness, with brutal numerical interruptions (himself). Even the terminology she so casually flings out 'Science-Fiction' 'primal instincts' 'secret passage way' all lend themselves to the particular...cadence that is her mind.

The Master finds it delectable that she chose to wake up _right as_ the Doctor succumbed to sleep. As this gives him ample time to get a feel of her thoughts, of her thought process.

And just _how young_ was she, that she didn't immediately raise her mental shields upon finding herself in an unknown location? Or was it less a matter of age and more a matter of experience? Had she been so sheltered that she didn't immediately assume that an enemy would take her thoughts and _use them against her._

 _"I had the time to prep my most powerful weapon."_

'Well' he thought to himself, 'that will just have to be my first lesson to her.'

 _"My Magic."_

'That one _never_ leaves their mind undefended.'

 _"Now I only needed to figure out the optimal numbers..."_

'I can help with that.'

* * *

Seven.

Seven three times...

Which was twenty-one...

and two and one makes three-

The number of stanzas-for a total of nine lines.

Perfection.

 _Seven syllables per-line._  
 _Three lines per-stanza._  
 _Three Stanzas per-fection._

The door was steel.

Deadlocked.

No going through the lock-would have to go through the molecules. Words started flowing from my brain to my mouth. Uncensored. Almost instantaneously. Sight to thought, to idea, to words. Eyes focused on the door, my only way out.

"Steel; an alloy, iron comprised of one percent of carbon."

Carbon. What did I know of Carbon? Think, _think_. This was basic. This was Third-Dimension Stuff. I could do this. _I could do this._  
"Carbon; the building block of life. Cornerstone of Organic Chemistry. Creates stable chemicals."

My eyes flashed around the room.

 _What to bond? What to bond?_

Magic was just another form of science after all, bending the universe to my words was always easier when I followed preconceived notions. Rules.

"Carbon bonds. Carbon bonds to Hydrogen. Tetravalent; four Hydrogen to each Carbon...Methane."

 _Methane at a 1 to 5 ratio._

My eyes darted to the glass of water next to my bedside.

"Breaking apart Covalent bonds. Water Molecules. Free Radicals bouncing around. Oxygen meet Oxygen. _Highly flammable._ "

My eyes darted back to the door.

"Steel sans Carbon...Iron."

Iron was weak. Relatively. Would relatively work? Would relatively be enough?

 _One way to find out._

Before I could think through all the holes in my plan, before I could remind myself of the unreliability of magic. Of the fact that I had never tried it outside of a laboratory setting. Before I could, in a word, chicken-out.

I acted.

 _Seven._

 _Three._

 _Three._

 _Five atoms in Methane._

 _One sigma bond._

 _All Prime Numbers._

Luck was on my side.

I grabbed the glass of water and threw it at the door with one hand, while tracing Gallifrayian Sigils in the air, with the other. The glass shattered against the door and I began to sing. A song of deconstruction. Reconstruction. And then, destruction.

Three words long.

Seven syllables in each line.

And three lines.

That's nine words in total.

 _Perfection._

 _"Σhiφ Krϋvye ΞHile"_

 _"One-by-one matter falls to ruin."_

First the bonds through space, each molecule of water was _riprip **ripped**_ apart. Then the intermolecular forces. The Polar Covalent bonds. Hydrogen to the left, Oxygen to the right

 _With the flick of my hand._

Rip the Carbon from the Steel.

 _"Ą'дкiE Gjљάΰļ_ _'Xyi"_

 _"Brick-by-brick empires reform."_

Re-attach; Carbon and Hydrogen.

Energy cannot be created nor destroyed.

No destruction.

Each bond broken becomes another bond formed. Methane floats through the air. The Oxygen bands together, Pure Oxygen Gas, diluted by the methane gas...an explosion primed and ready.

Finally, a spark.

 _"VΰΘЯ Zÿphiф 'ШæĦlet"_

 _"Ashes-to-ashes, energy flows. A circle."_

I snap my fingers.

Friction.

Two contrasting forces.

Notenough _notenough **not** **enough**_.

I take a deep breath. Step back. Need more energy. Need a new plan. Combustion. _Combustion._ What can cause a spark?

Bread.

My eyes dart to the table by my bed.

"Under certain conditions, in warm climates, bread has been known to spontaneously combust." I grab the loaf, concentrate my energies on it. Saturated. It needs to be _saturated_ with water. Seventy-Percent.

 _This needs to work, this_ has to _work._

"Check the atmosphere. Fifty-percent humidity, check. Only need forty-percent. Excess molecules pulled together. Pressure. Increase pressure. Gas to liquid. Water on the bread."

The words flowed through my mouth faster than I could compute. Meaningless White Noise, just another bi-product of my thoughts. A third layer to the song. The background vocals. Coalescing into perfection.

"Now Time." I had never done this before. Never linked myself to an object like this before. Linked my _time-sense_ like this before.

I knew it could be done. Had seen it done. Both in the Now and the Then. The Doctor had done it back on the Observation Platform. On a much smaller scale. Had slipped through the rotating fans in the split-seconds they had offered a path to safety.

But this was different. This wasn't _slowing time_ it was _accelerating it_.

I'd never done this before. But I had no choice. I was running out of Time.

I had to try.

 _I'm fading. Fading fast. The song is ending._

"Count the beats of my hearts. For each beat the bread's been left undisturbed for a week." One. Two. Three. Four. "It's been left to ferment, and age." One. Two. Three. Four. "It's been left to decompose. To _fester._ "

I drop the bread by the door, overturn the bed, and hide.

One. Two. Three. Four.

I can almost _see_ the reaction. The bacterial fermentation giving off heat, the spark caused by the rapid oxidation around it. That spark transferring energy to the methane. A chain reaction. A _combustion_ reaction. The pure oxygen feeding the raging inferno. The door _warping_ under the sudden influx in heat.

Creaking.

Groaning.

Snapping.

And falling.

 _That's my chance._

I sprint through the inferno, hurdle through the door, and don't stop running. I'm ecstatic. Elated. _I'mfreeI'mfreeI'mfree!_ But I'm naive. Careless. Magic cannot create energy. Energy is needed to destroy bonds. Energy, my energy, Time Lor-

-I make it ten steps before I pass-out.

Exhausted.

* * *

The Master watches as the girl collapses at his feet.

And he can't help the frown that slowly mars his face.

That was sloppy.

Not on her part-he's more than willing to admit, on a purely professional level, that he was _impressed_ with her escape attempt-but on _his_. He'd left a very obvious trace of his meddling.

He had intended to leave a trace, of course, what good was a lesson on vulnerability if one didn't _realize_ how vulnerable they truly were? But his trace was to be subtle, the slight shift of her 'inner voice' from that of a story-teller to _his_ 'inner voice' (if you could call that disjointed mess a 'voice'.)

It had seemed like the perfect tell as it was a mistake even the most professional of Mind Artists still made. Not altering the _way_ they presented information to better 'flow' with their prey's thoughts. He intended to get her to _instantly_ recognize the second her thoughts didn't _sound_ _like her_.

But he had slipped up.

It was the over-use of numerology.

It hadn't presented itself in her passive mindset, and so he had foolish thought that _that_ part of his thought process wouldn't bleed over with the hypnosis.

Of course, it was his own fault. He should have realized that her mind-set would shift once she tried to enact this 'magic' of hers. After all, didn't _his_ thought process change while utilizing his hypnosis?

It had slipped in.

The endless round of the drums.

The, One Two Three Four that plagued him continually.

The only string of numbers that he _couldn't_ bury deep, deep, in his subconscious.

They had slipped into her thoughts. And she was bound to notice. Like a sledgehammer to the head. Nothing subtle _at_ _all._ (Not when she had been working exclusively with prime numbers before).

'There was nothing to it,' he thought, as he picked her up and placed her in the room right next to her old-one (identical in style). 'That was sloppy. I need to do better next time.'

He then left and locked the door behind him. Wondering, briefly, how long it would take his charge to learn her first lesson. He was rather interested in teaching her, if not better then _cooler_ skills. She needed to get the basics down first, though.

* * *

Twelve.

It had taken me twelve attempts to realize his game. His angle. And I felt disgusted-not at him, I didn't hold him in a high enough regard to feel such a thing-but, rather, at _myself._

Twelve?!

It had really taken me _twelve_ foiled escape attempts to realize that someone was _purposefully_ foiling them? That said someone needed information to do so? And that said information was locked up tightly in my mind?

The very mind _t_ _hat I had forgotten to lock up._

The safe that I had left _wide_ open. The door that was just _swinging_ on its hinges. The armor that was _sitting back in the armory_.

Like I said, disgusted.

What did it say about me, that I hadn't even realized that someone had been telling me while not _what_ to think, _how_ to think it? That someone had been playing inception with my subconscious? What did it say about me that I didn't pick up on this _instantly_ when I had started to repeat the numbers one, two, three, four? What had I been thinking?

The answer?

I hadn't.

I'd been so tired, and hungry, and gorram _done_ when I'd arrived, that I'd taken the natural-out exhaustion had offered me. I'd stopped thinking. Or, perhaps, I should say I'd never started. It just...it's just _so hard_. To constantly think, to try and predict every possible outcome, to try and account for every variable in your prediction. So _hard_ to try and compete with these people that had _years_ of experience on me.

I was tired. I was hungry. And I was suffering from a _hair-splitting_ migraine (curtesy of Sir-Hypnotizes-A-Lot, no doubt). And I just...just wanted...well, if I was being honest, I just wanted an excuse. An excuse to curl up in bed. An excuse to give up and sleep. An excuse, in a sense, to _not think._

But I couldn't afford to.

Couldn't afford to close my eyes and cover my ears. Couldn't afford to run and hide under the covers. Couldn't afford to do anything but _trytry **try**._ Not when I had just landed myself in a paradox. Not when I was a good couple billion light years away from my home planet. Not when I wasn't even sure if I still _had_ a home planet.

(I couldn't just assume. Just because it survived in one universe didn't mean it would _here_. Time wasn't static like that. It was always changing...except when it wasn't.)

I couldn't afford any excuses. But I wanted _so bad_ to give them. To rage at the unfairness of it all. To complain about his ridiculous expectations. After all, didn't he know I was _only human?!_

Except, I wasn't.

I'm not.

I am a Time Lord. And we don't have the luxury of excuses, of "I can't"s or "I'm not able"s. Not anymore. Not when it was literally us against the universe. And not when our numbers had just been reduced to a psychopath, a coward, and a little girl.

So, I didn't give up. I got up. And I took the Master's lesson to heart. Raising my mental shields with an almost 'come get me, _I_ _dare you'_ kind of surety.

If nothing else I had to give him credit, if he wanted me to 'learn my lesson' then he wouldn't be disappointed. I would _never_ forget this lesson. My mind was my _treasure._ To let someone in like that? To not even suspect?

It **_shook_** me.

 _Knock. Knock. Knock._ _Knock._

But not enough to shake off the **_rage_** _._ He wanted to chat with his newest crew member? That's fine. I had _plenty_ to say.

* * *

 **Next Time** **:** _"Hey, what's your problem anyway?!"_

* * *

 **A/N:** Well there we have it! Chapter 2. Sorry for the wait, but, unfortunately, school happens to the best of us. I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, as disjointed as it was. Thanks to all who read/alerted/favorited/reviewed. The feedback was _enormous_. I was shocked. So thank you guys _so much!_

Onto Review Responses!

 **michaela .page .77:** Thanks! Here's the next chapter :)

 **time-twilight:** It'll be a bit before the Doctor and Rechi get to have a heart-to-heart, unfortunately. But I already know what they're gonna be saying to each other! The Master doesn't _believe_ he's being nasty...but then again...he's a "little" insane, too. (Part 2): Well, the Doctor doesn't normally introduce people based on their race (saying things such as "my companion") but how he'd introduce her to people...it'd probably go something like this;

 _"And this is Rechi, my...ward."_

 _"-Excuse me. What did you just call me?!"_

 _"Yup. My ward. Poor thing. Abandoned by her parents off the coast of Paramecia. Couldn't very well leave her. Humans were not made for Paramecian Winters after all. Far too Rubbery for them."_

 _"-Human!"_

 _"Yes. I_ know. _You hate it when I use that term. Find it degrading. But it's what you_ are, _Rechi. And the sooner you accept that fact, the better."_

Or something. Well, thank you for both reviews! Hopefully you liked this chapter too!

 **scarlet:** I'm sorry I can't update that often :( I have other stories to update, and-sadly-university takes up a large chunk of my life. Hopefully you enjoyed this chapter too! There are conflicting accounts on whether Time Ladys can get pregnant outside of their species. According to the _Audio: An Earthly Child_ Susan (the Doctor's granddaughter) marries and has a child with a human-David. (Other accounts hold that they couldn't have a child together.) For the purpose of my story I hold that _certain_ species are indeed compatible with Time Lord genetics.

 **Marissa:** Thank you! Hope you continue to enjoy it!

 **galita:** Yay, and I'm excited to hear your feedback :)

 **SilverMarkings:** What the Doctor did-and didn't-hear, along with his thoughts on this whole matter will be more thoroughly explained in the coming chapter. (Where we will also get some actual face-to-face communication.) In a way Rechi will not be easily manipulated, she's not nearly as immature as the Master or the Doctor would believe her to be. (In fact she's far more mature than either of them). But when it comes to sheer _experience_ she is, sadly, out classed. (As demonstrated in this chapter). Martha decides to leave at the end of Season 3 in Canon and the Doctor travels alone until he bumps into Donna. Whether Rechi changes anything, we'll see. (And yes, the Doctor will most _definitely_ be smothering her with unwanted affection.)

 **Lady Shagging Godvia:** Thank you very much! That is incredibly kind of you to say :) Hopefully you enjoyed this chapter too.

 **CalicoKitty402:** THANK YOU :D

 **Glasoo89:** Thanks :)

 **twinbuster2:** Thank you very much. I hope you enjoyed this chapter just as much as the first two, and hopefully you'll continue to enjoy the entire fic!

 **safranbrod:** Haha, she's technically a little too old to be called a Time Tot, but the Doctor's so _old_ that her youngness, seems, well, _extra_ young.

 **EmiliaKyuchi:** Thank you! Hopefully you'll continue to enjoy it :)

 **Provider of odd things:** Haha, yeah, it was pretty cruel to end there. Unfortunately the idea for the fic hit me right when my life got _really_ busy. Hopefully the fic will live up to your expectations though! And thanks for the compliment, I've found that the vast majority of DW fics are romances or Action/Adventure, and there is nothing wrong with that (a _t all_ ) but I kinda want to make mine more Sci-Fi? I don't know. Lol, I'm just having fun with it. Thanks for the review, though! Hope you continue to enjoy the fic! **  
**

 **Janus:** Lol, I didn't even realize I had left you all off on a cliff-hanger. Well, I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations, then. And that the story continues to hold your interest :) Thanks for your kind review! **  
**

 _Well. Until Next Time!_

 ** _Ja Ne!_**


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